


sweet dreams (are made of this)

by ExultedShores



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Daud (Dishonored), Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Love Bites, M/M, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Royal Spymaster Thomas (Dishonored), Sex Positive, Sex Positive Daud (Dishonored), Sleepy Sex, Wake-Up Sex, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 10:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20599352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExultedShores/pseuds/ExultedShores
Summary: "There is only one name on Thomas’ lips as he sleeps, only one man in his dreams, in his heart, not even his subconscious ever entertaining the possibility of anyone else."Thomas has an interesting dream. Daud makes it come true.





	sweet dreams (are made of this)

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're wondering what on earth this is, please don't ask, because I don't even know, man. After I wrote [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18186938/chapters/48860795) tidbit for my ongoing Daud/Thomas fic series (featuring sex repulsed!ace!Daud and also Royal Spymaster!noble!Thomas), I was hit by some vague thoughts of ace!Daud being sex positive instead and now here we are?
> 
> A loud shout-out to [BID](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BID), without whom this fic would most certainly not exist. Thank you for all of your help my dear, you were invaluable!
> 
> For those of you more visiually inclined, please check out BID's wonderful art based on this fic ([censored](https://bid-art.tumblr.com/post/187592881494/have-my-first-proper-spice-in-a-long-long-time) and [uncensored](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/830915))!

Thomas is beautiful when he sleeps.

Of course, he’s always _pretty_. With his fine aristocratic features, long blond hair and deep green eyes that betray the Morleyan blood in his lineage, it’s difficult to dispute that he’s pretty. But it’s a controlled sort of beauty, the pretty façade of a pretty noble hiding the ugly truth of an ugly assassin lurking underneath. He’s like a porcelain doll; pretty, yes, but it’s not _real_.

But strip away the veneer, break away the mask, and oh, but he’s _gorgeous_. Daud so enjoys relieving him of his dignified guise, so enjoys watching Thomas come utterly undone by his touch, his hair in disarray, pupils blown wide, chest heaving as he gasps for breath. It is not a favour he cares to have returned – and not only because he likes his own mask of confidence to remain firmly in place. He’s simply never taken pleasure in, well, being _pleasured_. No, he prefers to give, to observe, to feel overcome with affection for this man who’s his and his alone, wholly and unconditionally.

And when he sleeps afterwards, when he mumbles sweet nothings into his pillow, when the marks Daud left on his skin begin to bloom red and purple, Thomas is _beautiful_.

Daud likes to watch him, likes to drink in the image of him like this, before he wakes, before he combs his hair and covers his skin and plays his charade of the distinguished nobleman. Daud likes knowing he is the only one allowed this sight, that he is the one _responsible_ for it, that he alone is its creator and its owner and its awestruck admirer.

To put it more concisely, Daud likes – _loves_, he doesn’t yet allow himself to think – _Thomas_.

And Thomas, he knows, loves _him_ in turn, utterly, openly, without reservations. He knows because he can see it in his eyes, in the curve of his smile, in the very lines of his face. He knows because Thomas makes him his tea every morning, strong and sweet and milky, just the way Daud likes it, and he knows not to expect any sort of intelligent conversation until the cup is drained. He knows because Thomas _knows_ him, knows all of his preferences, his vices, his many, many flaws, and he’s still _here_.

He knows because there is only one name on Thomas’ lips as he sleeps, only one man in his dreams, in his _heart_, not even his subconscious ever entertaining the possibility of anyone else.

“_Daud_.”

His name is murmured softly, _reverently_, and Daud reaches for him, brushes a lock of hair from his face. He’s gentle, careful, but Thomas hums at the contact, turns his head and leans into Daud’s touch, seeking more. Daud indulges him, languorously raking his hand through Thomas’ hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp, and Thomas mumbles something incomprehensible, shifting in his sleep so he can curl up against Daud.

Daud’s eyebrows rise when he feels an unmistakable erection pressing into his thigh, though Thomas is still fast asleep and muttering incoherently – whatever he’s dreaming about (and Daud has an inkling), it must be quite _vivid_.

There’s something extraordinarily gratifying about the sensation; it’s as though sleep has finally stripped away the last layer of Thomas’ façade, of his control. Were he awake, he would not be clinging to Daud as he is, would not be rubbing against Daud’s leg in an attempt to find some form of friction. Thomas knows Daud doesn’t care to be touched in a venereal manner, and he has never so much as laid a finger on him without Daud’s explicit consent. Even when Daud dedicates himself to his partner’s pleasure, he doesn’t touch, chooses instead to fist his hands into the sheets while he gives himself over to Daud’s ministrations.

He has no such reservations now, no such regard, and when Daud’s name tumbles from his lips again, breathy and needy and so full of _want_, Daud finds him to be positively _stunning_.

Daud slowly untangles himself from Thomas’ hold, guiding Thomas along with him until he’s flat on his back, on display, hair fanned out wildly on the pillows, lips parted and glistening, brow furrowed at the loss of Daud’s warmth.

He leans over Thomas, experimentally pressing his lips to one of the bruises he left last night, at the base of Thomas’ throat – and the response is _instantaneous_. Thomas sucks in a strangled breath, bares his throat further, grabs a hold of Daud’s forearm and squeezes tightly, his whole body strung with tension.

“Daud,” he whispers once again.

Daud leans in close. “Yes,” he rumbles into his ear, delighting in the way Thomas’ body shudders at the sound of his voice.

“Please,” Thomas gasps, his hips bucking upwards shamelessly. “_Please_.”

He lays a hand on Thomas’ stomach, splays his fingers over the taunt muscles of his abdomen, gently pushes him down. “What do you want, Thomas?”

Thomas’ breath shudders, his eyelids fluttering but not opening. He doesn’t answer Daud’s question.

Daud kisses the exposed bruise again, slowly works his way from Thomas’ throat up to his jawline, to the shell of his ear. “What do you _want_?”

His voice is little more than a growl, and Thomas’ reply comes swiftly this time. “_You_.”

Ah, but that is _exactly_ what he wanted to hear.

Daud returns his attention to the love marks on Thomas’ body, at least a dozen of them visible from this angle – and he knows there are more, exactly where he made them last night. In a few hours, the high-collared Spymaster’s coat that is part of Thomas’ uniform will cover them all up, leave no one the wiser, but Daud will know they’re there, and that is all that matters.

He seeks them now, kisses them each in turn, sucks on the ones that haven’t quite blossomed yet, drags his teeth across the one he likes best, the one that he hasn’t allowed to fade in months now, sitting atop Thomas’ left pectoral, right over his heart. The movement of his mouth has Thomas gasping, his breath coming in short bursts – and then the hand that’s been digging into Daud’s forearm drops away, quickly replaced by two hands on his shoulders, easing him back.

Thomas’ eyes are glassy, unfocused, but they’re wide open, staring at Daud as though he’s a mirage rather than a man. “Daud,” he rasps. “I dreamt – you were –”

His eyes flick from Daud’s face down to the hand still putting pressure on his stomach, then further down still, and Daud can see the blush form, fierce scarlet spreading from the tip of his nose across his cheekbones, reddening his ears, creeping down his neck.

“Void,” Thomas groans, dragging a hand across his face. “I – forgive me, I didn’t mean to –”

He tries to move, but Daud holds firm, pushing him back. “What were you dreaming about?”

Thomas can’t quite seem to look him in the eye. “It doesn’t matter. I just need to – please –”

“Tell me,” Daud implores. He cups Thomas’ cheek, forces him to look Daud in the eye. “Maybe I can make it come true.”

A choked little noise escapes Thomas’ throat, lips moving soundlessly. Daud waits, keeps him pinned in place with both his hands and his stare, until Thomas finally admits, in a broken whisper: “Fellatio.”

Daud can’t contain the laughter bubbling up his throat, coming out in a low chuckle. Of course that’s what he would name it. Prim and proper Thomas, always so careful, always so _correct_, like the refined nobleman he’s supposed to be.

And like always, Daud takes great pleasure in stripping that façade away. He leans in close, never breaks eye contact. “Would you like me to suck your dick, Thomas?”

He can see Thomas’ Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. “You don’t have to –”

“That’s not what I asked,” Daud interrupts. “I asked if you would _like me to_.”

Thomas’ gaze drops to his lips. “Yes,” he answers, voice soft, undemanding, “but –”

Daud kisses him, swallowing his protest. “Let me,” he implores. “Let me take care of you.”

Something shifts in Thomas’ expression, uncertainty making way for adoration, for lust, for love. “Outsider’s eyes, Daud, _yes_.”

“Let’s keep the black-eyed bastard out of this.”

Thomas huffs a laugh that quickly turns into a gasp when Daud’s hand slides down from his stomach, fingers gliding along the fine blond hair that trails from his lower abdomen down to the base of his cock.

He strokes Thomas’ shaft with a featherlight touch, just once, just a tease, before he settles his palms on the inside of Thomas’ thighs, gently prying his legs apart. Thomas lets him, allows himself to be moulded into whatever position Daud wants him to be, gives himself over completely, as he always does.

Daud will be the first to admit he isn’t the most proficient at giving head, lack of personal sexual desire and experience having kept him from mastery – but he knows himself, and better yet, he knows _Thomas_. He knows the curve of Thomas’ dick, longer than his own but not nearly as thick, knows exactly how far he can take it into his mouth without gagging, knows how Thomas’ body responds to his every touch. He knows because he’s _learned_, those handful of times he’s done this for Thomas before – but he would know much more if Thomas were to _teach him_.

He takes Thomas’ hand in his, tugs it down towards his head. “Guide me,” he orders. “Show me what you want.”

“You,” Thomas murmurs, though he slides his hand obediently into Daud’s hair. “I just want _you_.”

Well, that can be arranged.

Daud runs his tongue along Thomas’ length slowly, down, up, then back down again, swirls it briefly around the tip before he takes him in, inch by inch, as far as he can. His hand curls around the base of Thomas’ cock, the part he cannot engulf between his lips, and he pumps along with the movements of his mouth, adapting a steady rhythm, as his tongue twirls languorously around the shaft.

And it’s – fine. Thomas has his free hand already twisted into the sheets, his breathing laboured but carefully kept even. If Daud keeps going as he is, the stimulation will send Thomas over the edge sooner or later. But he still doesn’t know what Thomas _wants_, the hand buried in his hair not providing any of the guidance he requested. A small part of Thomas is holding back, doesn’t want to push for more, and Daud _needs_ him to take control, needs to give him the control so he can strip it away, so he can see Thomas finally come completely undone under his touch.

With great care, he ever so slightly drags his upper teeth across the sensitive flesh – and Thomas’ hand tightens in his hair, pulling back, yes, excellent, this is what he wants – but as soon as the graze of Daud’s teeth stops, Thomas’ grip eases again. Daud hums softly, then does it again, applying a bit more pressure – and this time, there are two hands in his hair, halting his movements.

Daud stops moving completely, looks up at Thomas with an expectant expression on his face. Only when Thomas pushes down does he continue, until the gentle pressure atop his head lifts. He stops again, and the prompt comes quicker this time, tugging him back, and Daud grins up at Thomas through his mouthful of cock.

“Oh _Voiddammit_, Daud,” Thomas curses vehemently, his voice coming out wonderfully strangled.

In response, Daud strokes his thumb along one of Thomas’ balls, arching an eyebrow in question.

“Yes,” Thomas pants, and he throws his head back when Daud repeats the motion. “Yes, that’s – Void, _please_.”

Daud obliges gladly, drags his thumb across the delicate skin in slow, careful circles, as his head bobs up and down as per Thomas’ whims, the hands grasping his hair getting surer and surer in their directions. He braces himself with a hand against Thomas’ thigh, lets himself be pushed in and pulled back at an ever increasing speed, sucks and licks and touches as he pleases. It isn’t long before Thomas is writhing underneath him, back arched, hips rolling, breathing laboured.

“Daud,” Thomas moans his name, makes the mere syllable sound like a most wanton thing, “I won’t –” He cuts himself off with a gasp when Daud swipes his tongue over the very tip of his dick, tasting the moisture beginning to leak from it. “I won’t last – Void, don’t – I’m _close_.”

His words are accompanied by a tug at Daud’s hair, imploring him to stop, but this time, Daud ignores his unspoken command, takes back the control he lent Thomas, keeps his lips firmly closed around Thomas’ cock. This is new, he knows – the few times he’s done this for Thomas before, he always pulled away, uncomfortable with the idea of an ejaculation inside his mouth. It seemed derogatory, somehow, as though he would relinquish his control of the situation if he allowed it – but nothing could be further from the truth. The look in Thomas’ eyes now, the way he regards Daud as though he is rapture embodied, _that_ is what he wants.

And when he comes with Daud’s name on his lips, his whole body trembling, he is _radiant_.

Swallowing everything proves to be a challenge he can’t meet, a thin trail dripping down his chin, and Daud is panting for air when he lets Thomas’ softening penis slide from his mouth, utterly out of breath.

He wipes the sperm and saliva from his chin with one of the sheets. “Was that everything you dreamed of?”

“Oh, Void, no,” Thomas breathes, a soft, euphoric laugh accompanying the words, “this was so much better.”

He pulls Daud down for a kiss, uncaring of tasting himself on Daud’s smiling lips. “Thank you.”

Daud chuckles. “You don’t have to say that every time I give you an orgasm.”

“I’m grateful,” he insists, sincerity clear in his tone. “I know you don’t care for any of this, and you don’t have to –”

“I want to,” Daud assures him, because Void, he does. “I want you to be happy, mi cariño.”

Thomas’ smile could light up all of Dunwall. “I love you, you know that?”

He does.

And Daud – Daud hasn’t allowed himself to think it before.

But –

“I love you too.”


End file.
